


THEN

by Era_Penn



Series: Through Death We Won't Part [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Developing Relationship, First Date, Friendship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, Nightmares, Other tags to be added, PTSD/flashbacks, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Pheels, Rare Pairings, Suicidal Themes, Tony Feels, Tony!Whump, attempted suicide, healing/recovery, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 18,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1300495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Era_Penn/pseuds/Era_Penn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Questions flung from the sidelines, from the reporters and fans and fellow stars. Always with the questions. Tony deflected or joked, generally being a nuisance. The media thought they knew all his dirty little secrets. They were wrong.<br/>*****<br/>Phil Coulson was known as Evan tonight. There was a street fight destined to get bloody, and it was as good a place as any to look for new recruits; they’d tracked Barton down at a similar site years ago. One never knew when they’d find a gem among the trash.</p><p>Afghanistan was before and after, but they, they were then and now. This is the story of THEN.</p><p>TW: M for Suicidal themes and past abuse!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Was Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for suicidal themes and abuse! Please heed! 
> 
> Tony's song for this part is "Never Saw Blue Like That". Listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sptmDFuzpTA).
> 
> Coulson's song for this part is "Fix You". Listen [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4V3Mo61fJM).
> 
> In this 'verse I think of Tony and Coulson as about ten years younger than in the actual MCU, but you're welcome to still think of them as their normal age.

**Sept. 6, 2006**

Tony Stark sauntered down the red carpet, careful smirk plastered in place and flashing peace signs for the never-ending camera flashes. He signed a little girl’s book here, a little boy’s action figure there. He loved little kids, despite what the media might say. Not that he’d ever want one himself (he'd probably break them).

Questions flung from the sidelines, from the reporters and fans and fellow stars. Always with the questions. Tony deflected or joked, generally being a nuisance. The media thought they knew all his dirty little secrets.

They were wrong.

Tony Stark hid a grimace behind a jovial laugh as someone bumped into him, sending aches through his bruises. He tossed out a teasing comment about left feet, receiving a mocking response.

_Always so cruel._

That was okay. He brushed the thought aside, refocusing on the premiere, or appearing to be focused there. He was a genius though, and he could easily think of multiple things at once, as long as he didn't mind being an asshole, and he didn't. That was the best way to hide.

He thought of his plans for tonight. There were three underground fights tonight, after the party; one was guaranteed to be bloody.

So that’s where he’d go.


	2. But if You Never Try You'll Never Know

Phil Coulson was known as Evan tonight. It was his cover. Tonight there was a street fight destined to get bloody, and it was as good a place as any to look for new recruits; and recruiting was the goal tonight. They’d tracked Barton down at a similar site years ago. 

One never knew when they’d find a gem among the trash.

He came as a spectator, not a competitor; others had no such compunctions. They had grandiose stage names, covers as much as his own. Shiver & Shake, a set of twins; Doom; Delightful Prince; Red Rogue.

One man arrived late, and the whispers flew around the crowd, excited, anxious for the fighting to start. Coulson had heard whispers of this particular fighter, vicious and cold, and every event he attended ended in blood and violence of the highest level of streetfighting.

_The stray king._

He had more potential than the others, though the delightful prince had promise. Once the man arrived it wasn't long before the fight started. Bets flew and the gambling jumped up a notch. Fists flew, elbows were tossed; there was only one rule here.

Survive.

* * *

It was hours after the stray king stalked away, victorious and apparently completely unharmed, that Coulson stumbled across him again, whiskey heavy on his breath and wallet spent.

“So you win and then you drink it all away?”

“What of it?” the drunk replied, surprisingly coherent, before turning and spitting blood into the gutter and raising brown eyes to meet blue.

Phil almost recoiled. The brown eyes were empty, devoid of even a spark of life or hope. They were a shattered mirror, cold and impossible to repair. It was as though the mind behind them was so sharply intelligent that it left room for nothing else, no emotion, no sorrow or joy.

They were the eyes of a dead man.

“Evan.” He introduced.

“Good lie. Common enough name.”

“I’m looking to recruit a good fighter.”

“Oh, so you’re one of those. Well, you’re not any of the usual sort; army, navy, air force, or marine. Not even FBI, CIA, or special ops.” The man finally turned those eyes away. “But I’m afraid I must refuse.”

“It’d be a better life than this.”

“Anything is.” 

“So why not take the offer.”

“It isn't that simple, _Evan_.”

“Why, you got someone waiting?”

A wry twist of shadowed lips, but no answer.

“Well, at least let me give you a lift.”

“I’m fine here, thanks. I've got a game of Roulette to get to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just entered this scholarship contest, and voting opens on MARCH 16. If you would go [here](http://www.varsitytutors.com/scholarship_entries/Adria-1520) and vote for me, I would much appreciate it!


	3. Could it be Worse?

Coulson wandered the fights long after his recruiting assignment was over. He filed paperwork, got it extended.

“Why the sudden drive?” Fury asked.

“Someone has caught my attention.” Coulson replied. “And I don’t know why.”

Fury nodded. He owed his best lieutenant this much, and there was nothing pressing at the moment. The quiet before the storm, he suspected, but still quiet.

So Coulson wandered the streets of California, the back alleys and side roads no one respectable so much as glanced at.

And as he wandered, he learned about the stray king.

_”Oh, him. No one knows anything about him; he shows up for the bloodiest fights, the ones that result in broken bones and sometimes death, and then he vanishes like he never existed.”_

_“Drunkard, but respectable enough, for his sort. Doesn’t hold with idiots who try for the girls.”_

_“Bastard stole my girl!”_ That one was the most common.

_”He seemed sad, back in th’ start.” Little Mary looked up at him. “But I ent been able t’ figger on ‘t, acos now he just seems empty. Alone, empty ‘n dead, they say.”_

_“Dead man walking.”_

_“Empty as a grave.”_

_“Psycopath.”_

_“Deader on th’inside than a bag o’ cats.”_

_“Surprised he’s still around; he gambles at solitary Roulette more’n anyone else. I thought he’d have offed himself by now.”_

_“He’s always alone.”_

_“Lonely fool.”_

_“It's the loneliness as broke him, ah ‘spect.”_

Coulson just got more and more curious. He could have sworn he’d seen that face somewhere before.


	4. I Never Saw Blue Like that Before

He’d spotted the recruiter a mile away, and left fast after the show. Apparently his luck was beginning to run out, though, because the man tracked him down to his favorite bar, somehow, and offered him a job. People never saw if they didn’t expect to see, so no one saw Tony Stark within the stray king. Not like it mattered anyway. No one saw anything in Tony Stark.

And then he met the stranger’s eyes. They were the bluest blue, piercing and clear and comfortable as the seas around Malibu. His own chocolate eyes were hard, cold; enough people had said it, it must be true, but those eyes…

He kind of wanted to curl up in them and never leave. He’d bet it was warm there, too; safe and cared for. He tore his thoughts away as he looked off to the distance. He needed to remember. He was Tony Stark, and he wasn’t allowed to have good things, and this man (spy or not) was definitely that. He probably had a wife, 2.5 kids, and a labrador retriever waiting for him at a little house in the country, surrounded by a white picket fence. That life couldn’t ever be his. (Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist; a mantra to remind him.)

And he had a game of roulette to get to.

* * *

Tony sat, staring over the city from a room in the penthouse Stark Industries let for him whenever he had business in New York, fingers tracing out well-remembered patterns on the cello. The room was large, and windows made up two of the walls. A bottle of scotch was empty atop a beautiful piano behind him, next to a gun with one bullet. He put the bow down and stood.

His footsteps echoed lonely against the hardwood floor, cool air rushing in from an open pane of glass. He didn’t turn on the light; the ones reflecting in from the city skyline were enough, casting shadows and sparkling reflections on glass and floor.

New York was his beautiful lady tonight.

He picked up the gun, settling the barrel in his mouth.

_Click_.

He put down the gun, picked up the bow. “And I win at Roulette again,” he murmured, voice uncaring. He set fingers to strings, playing a tune to sing to.

“When the days are cold/And the cards all fold/And the saints we see/Are all made of gold….”.

It wasn't the usual instrument for many songs, but if you learned them by ear, that wasn't really an issue.

* * *

_Lights… putting on a dab of cover-up over the bruises on his skin. (He never did play well with others.)_

_Camera. Running hands through hair, trimming the goatee, buttoning on a suit. Taking a deep breath. (There’s more than one kind of kevlar.)_

_Action. Swinging the door open, smirking at Pepper looking frustratedly at the clock, and offering an arm. (Tick, tock, goes the clock.)_

_Lights. Camera. Action. No second takes. No going back. Just an endless performance, a never-ending mask, all an act for everyone. (All a one-man show.)_

_Sometimes he even fooled himself. (The alcohol blurred reality’s lines.)_

_People wondered why he never broke a sweat, even on a hot July day in a suit coat, or standing in front of a court, or an angry boy/girlfriend, or a kidnapper, or a threat. Stark men are made of iron, they said, as his father before him. So it has been, and so it will be._

_He was always cold, strong. Iron. (Alone.)_

_Lights, Camera, Action._

_Lights, Camera, Action._

_Lights, Camera, Action._

_Lights………._

_He couldn't do this anymore. Darklineswristhurtshelphelphelppainlonelyhelpjustlonelylittleboyhelpi’malonecan’tyouhearmescreaming I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE._

_Smooth metal. He knows it better than himself._

_Click._

_Lights... Camera..._

__

Tony shot straight up in bed, gasping for air. “Jarvis, lights,” he gasped out, not letting aching tears fall.

“Of course, sir.” The mechanical voice came from his tablet, but Jarvis was still everywhere. He had gotten into the systems. “Miss Potts has declared this an off day; you may do as you wish.”

“Thanks, J.” Tony smiled tiredly at his friend. “This is why you’re my favorite.”

“I do try.” Jarvis said, because he was brilliant, brilliant, and he’d learned what to say and how to act to keep Tony from tipping over the edge. That was why Jarvis wasn't in his music room; he didn't want anyone to see him like that. Not even an AI (friend, his best friend, God he was pathetic) that he’d built himself.

“I think I’ll go out.”

The silence was sternly disapproving.

* * *

The whispers reached him. Someone was looking, trying to find him, and Tony wanted to scream his rage to the unfeeling sky and the uncaring ocean, because did they have to take this from him, too?

Well, he wouldn't let them. What was another mark on his record to Tony Stark, after all?

The real Tony, though, just wanted someone to lean on when he fell asleep in the workshop, instead of waking with the imprint of a socket wrench on his cheek.


	5. You Get What You Want, Not What You Need

By the time Phil tracked the stray king down again, he knew exactly who he was. He'd gotten a glimpse of brown eyes at a bar recently before shades slid down to hide their emptiness above a smirk that seemed real to the world.

But he knew better.

"Mister Stark."

The man tensed as a practiced, easy grin sliding into place. "Finally figure it out? You've been trying to find me for long enough. Evan."

"It's Agent Phil Coulson, actually."

"Well, Agent Coulson, you've unearthed the great secret of Tony Stark. So, what do you want?"

Phil blinked.

"Cash? An unlimited spending credit card? A private beach? A vacation for two to Italy, fully funded of course. Or maybe just a night in bed -"

"That last one," Coulson replied, a hint of his surprise slipping off his face. It was sad, but not exactly shocking, to realize the billionaire didn’t believe he would keep his secret without getting something back. "I want you to go home without a bimbo or whore, turn off any distractions, and just sleep. I'm exhausted just looking at you."

Tony stared at him, shock written across his face for a long moment before it was covered in a sneer. "Fat chance."

"Why?"

Another flash of surprise, much more well-hidden this time, but Coulson could see it. Hadn't anyone asked the man why he was so obviously hurting? "Why not?" Tony asked in reply.

"You're only hurting yourself."

"Yeah, I am. So why the hell do you care?"

Coulson didn't know, so he gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Seriously, I'll pay you however much you want, just shove off and leave me to drink my whiskey in peace."

And Coulson went, because he could pick his battles.

* * *

But he came back, and it seemed Tony didn't know how to react to that, because he hadn't said anything. He'd just sort of stared at him for a long moment, something flickering behind chocolate eyes, and gone back to drinking.

"Do you do anything except fight and drink?" He asked one night, another little inconsequential question to fill the silence and the time. He no longer had any illusions as to what he was doing here. He’d found someone amazing, hurting and alone, and he was going to fix it. He was good at fixing things so they’d never break again.

Tony looked at him with those unreadable eyes. "Sure," he answered.

"Like what?"

"I play the cello." The billionaire stilled, as though shocked by the words that had come out of his own mouth. "And if you ever tell that to anyone, I will eviscerate you."

Coulson didn't doubt it - but just why was the man so touchy about it? He wondered if all the wounds on the engineer's hands actually were from working. "I play the piano," he replied, deciding that an exchange of information would probably make the other man more comfortable about sharing.


	6. No One Else Has Ever

He was bemused when Agent Coulson showed up at the bar where he was again.

And again.

And again.

Seriously, what the hell.

And again.

He didn't ask for any favors, paid for his own drinks, asked him meaningless questions about his hobbies and interests, watched him with warm blue eyes and a blank expression. No one else had ever...

"I play the cello." And what the hell, not even Rhodey knew that (though that didn't matter - Rhodey might never make it home), even Potts wasn't privy to that particular tidbit; when all the world knew all your life better than you did, you clung to what few precious secrets you had. And then he had to go and make a big deal out of it by threatening the mild-mannered secret agent, who blew his mind when he responded with a simple,

"I play the piano."

Huh. No one else had ever told Tony something like that before, an inconsequential detail that would get nothing from him. He felt a flicker of something at the edge of his emotions. "Cool." He replied, unable to keep the bewilderment out of his voice entirely.

"I suppose. I am, however, a bit out of practice." 

Tony stared at the bandages on his fingers, wrapped around glass. "Hm."

He definitely wasn't.

(And again, and again. No one else had ever…)

* * *

"Will you please let me buy you dinner?"

"What?" Tony said, completely shocked. For one thing, no one ever noticed him in this disguise; for another, buy him dinner? He was a billionaire.

"Dinner. There's a really good burger place two blocks from here." Coulson replied.

What the hell? "Why?" He asked. No one ever did anything for nothing - not for him, anyway. Coulson just shrugged. 

"Well," he replied. "Eating alone is never fun."

That was... Actually kind of true, not that he'd admit it. "No," he replied anyway, deliberately.

"Okay."

That was it? No rage, no agitation, not even a second attempt? That was...nice. People didn't often take him at his word. Now he kind of wanted to take it back, but that was a bad idea all around. He'd start getting attached, and then when ~~Phil~~ Coulson, dammit, _Coulson_ , left, it would hurt. Better to just to avoid it all entirely.

* * *

Coulson was starting to get the hang of it now - catching glimpses of the man behind the mask.

“Will you please let me buy you dinner?”

“What?” Tony replied, fingers curling in shock.

“Dinner. There’s a really good burger place two blocks from here.” He replied, carefully waiting for Tony’s reaction.

“Why?”

Yeah, that was pretty much what he’d expected; Tony always wanted to know his motives, about everything. “Well, eating alone is never fun.” That he knew Tony’d understand; he had the feeling the billionaire ate alone far too often - and far more often just didn't eat at all.

“No,” Tony responded, posture turning defensive to a well-trained eye.

“Okay.” He hadn't expected the surprise he got at the easy acquiescence. Did Tony expect him to try and force him to - oh. He suddenly had the urge to murder anyone who’d ever ignored a no.

* * *

“I’m going to be gone for a couple weeks. Want to go for dinner when I get back?”

Tony blinked at him. “What, you have a secret mission?”

“Something like that.”

“Sure. I might not even be in the same state, though.”

Coulson felt an actual smile on his face. “That’s fine. I’m sure I can find you. Two Fridays from now, the best burger joint in the area.”

* * *

Holy f*** what the hell was he thinking?!

SURE. He’d said, it’d… WHAT? He didn't _mean_ to agree, it just sort of happened. He really did want to, but this was such a bad, bad idea. Not that this was a date or anything. Maybe. He kind of wanted it to be? But that was a bad idea, that path led only to disaster and failure and he was tired of failing. They all found his heart lacking in some way and tried to fix it, change it, carve it into a new shape. Tony was tired of being found lacking.

But he hadn't shown Phil much of a facade yet - just the blankness, which was… well, basically all he ever felt anymore - and Phil had still asked him. Not that this was a date anyway.

Coulson. Dammit. Coulson. He could not get attached. He’d probably never see the man again anyway, since he wasn’t exactly stationary and he doubted Coulson was either.

Happy opened the door of the limo and Tony climbed out. “Thanks.” he told the driver, heading straight for the elevator up to his penthouse. He didn't bother to flick on the light when he entered; all that was there to see was furniture anyway. Instead, the electric light of the fridge lit his pale face as he reached for a beer.

And stopped. He didn't want to drink. Huh.

So he grabbed a lemonade and pulled blueprints on his Starkpad. It was so rare he had a good day anymore; he wanted to make the most of it. His good mood would be over by morning.

He refused to admit that a certain agent had anything to do with it. Coulson was gone, and there was no point being attached to an absent… well, whatever Coulson was to him.

He’d agreed, Tony decided, because there was no way Coulson would actually come back. Absolutely no way. He didn't even hope he would. Really.

After all, no one else had ever come back for him.

(Yep. Now he wanted a drink.)


	7. Stuck in Reverse

**Nov. 24, 2006**

_What am I even doing here?_ he wondered, sitting at a table near the window and staring out at the street beyond. The people outside hurried to and fro, trying to get out of the freezing drizzle. _He’s not going to show up. Not that I care._

“More coffee?” Tony nodded. The place was small, comfortable, family-run - everyone there knew who he was, they just weren't jerks about it - and always smelled like vanilla, but their coffee was divine, as were their burgers, and they didn't mind that he’d been sitting there for the last hour (he knew the waitress). He didn't even know if Ph- Coulson knew the place existed. Not that it mattered, when Coulson wasn't likely to show up anyway. It’s not like this was a date or something.

“Thanks.” he replied.

Then a new thought struck. What if he’d gotten the wrong day? Or - or what if he’d -

No. Didn't matter. Coulson wasn't coming anyw-

“Why the panic?” Darcy - the waitress - slid into the booth across from him. “Got a hot date?”

“What - no!”

“Methinks he doth protest too much!” She said, gleeful. “Seriously bro, why are you freaking out?”

“Because I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here.” he admitted.

“Ooo, so it is a hot date. You only freak out this much when you start getting attached to people.”

“This is so embarrassing - you’re like, twelve.”

“I am twenty, which you know very well.”

“Poli-sci.” he grumbled. She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah yeah.” The bell up front rang and she slid out of the booth, heading to greet the newcomer. “Welcome! Can I help you with anything?”

“Hello - I’m supposed to be meeting a friend?”

His eyes widened, and he simply stared at the man settling into the seat across from him. “Sorry I’m late.” Phil Coulson said. “I didn't even know this place existed.”

Tony just sort of… blinked. “Um… no… it’s fine…” _How the hell…_

Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Well, let’s eat then.”

“Uh - yeah -”

Something of his confusion must have shown on his face, because Coulson answered the unasked question. “I said I’d be here, didn't I? Almost didn't make it, the agent I was working with is so slow about assassinating people sometimes.”

Tony had a sudden vision of a deadly, blonde femme fatale with long gorgeous legs wrapped around Ph- Coulson’s waist shooting over his shoulder as they ran. A blazing edge of fury ran up his spine and - he was so, so screwed. 

“Soooo how was that then?” he asked, finally managing to gain a little equilibrium.

“Boring, honestly. I really wasn't needed, Clint could have handled it himself.”

“Er - is that something you should be telling me?”

“What - his name? Don’t see why not. There are plenty of Clints out there. You’ll probably meet him eventually if we keep crossing paths. I work with him a lot.”

“How come?” Tony asked, curious. It seemed to him people wouldn't really ‘work together’ all that often in such a field.

“Because he’s an idiotic man-child and none of the other handlers can put up with his antics.”

Tony almost outright laughed at that before reigning himself in. This Clint sounded like the type of person he could get along with. He’d been called an idiotic man-child before, on multiple occasions.

“You ready to order?” Tony asked.

“Have you eaten here before?”

He nodded, waving Darcy over. “Every time I’m in Portland. They do a mean bacon burger and a killer classic.”

“So what’s SI up to that sends you here?” he asked.

“Trying for a partnership, and they send me here whenever they want me to lie low. The bacon, and a large fry. Keep the coffee coming.”

“Of course, though sleep would do you better’n caffeine. And for you?”

“Coffee and the classic, please - no pickles, if you put them on there.”

“I’ll be right back with your coffees.” she headed off.

“You’re a dear, Darcy!”

The brunette grinned. “Only because your tips are paying for tuition and Netflix!”

“And they’ll keep doing so if you keep making coffee like you do!” he hollered back as she vanished into the kitchen. “That’s Darcy,” he told Phil. “She...helped me out, once.”

Phil nodded. “She seems… interesting.”

Tony _did_ laugh at that, surprised into it just for a moment. “That about sums it up,” he smiled.

Phil looked pleased with himself, smiling back.

A loud crash from the kitchen and Darcy’s emphatic cursing broke the moment. Phil’s hand jumped to his gun automatically, for a moment, before he forced himself to relax. Tony jumped to his feet, hastily making his way back. “Darce? Mrs. Lewis? You okay?”

“Good, that worked. Stay here for at least five minutes.” She made her way out of the kitchen. Tony shot her mother a questioning look, but was blatantly ignored. Curious, Tony nonetheless obeyed.

* * *

Phil blinked when Darcy slid into the booth across from him. “So you’re wining and dining my bro.”

“He’s… difficult to wine and dine.” Phil admitted.

She snorted. “No, really.”

He got the feeling he was missing something. So far, though, he felt tonight had gone just about as well as it could have done; Tony wasn't drunk and he’d eaten, and that was progress.

“If you hurt him I will _destroy_ you.” Darcy said, perfectly charming smile on her face. “I've done it before.”

Phil Coulson, one of the greatest agents SHIELD had ever known, almost shuddered. He had absolutely no doubt she could and would follow through. “Understood.” he replied. “I’ll be paying.”

Darcy nodded and stood. “Better go see if Tony’s managed to fix that short.”

Phil released a breath he hadn't even realized he was holding when she stood up and returned to the kitchen. Tony came back a few minutes later. “Sorry,” he said.

“Not a problem.” Phil replied, sincerely. He didn't mind; if anything, he was relieved. It was good to know someone was watching Tony’s back.

* * *

Tony groaned in satisfaction when he finished off his meal. “I don’t know if I can move,” he said somewhat dreamily. He wasn't out of it enough not to notice that Phil took the check, though. “Oh, hey, no it’s fine, I’m a billionaire, I can totally -”

“I believe it is customary that the one who asks pays.” Phil replied, handing his card to Darcy and smiling at him.

Tony’s brain froze. “Wait, is this a _date_?” he asked. Hoped. Panicked. Hoped.

“That was the intention.” Phil replied, entirely relaxed.

Tony was NOT relaxed. No, no nope, he had declared sworn never to get into a relationship again after - he was still stuck in the past, always looking backwards, stuck in the _pain, stop, please stop it hurts I didn't mean to i'm sorry, sorry, sorry, please -_

“Tony, you need to breathe -”

“Yeah bro, you look seriously uncool and off-kilter right now.”

Darcy. Right, she wouldn't let - She’d - He was fine, it was fine - “I’m fine,” he said automatically.

“Like hell.” Darcy snapped back.

“Really, Darce.” he said, trying to match Phil’s breathing, slow and even. She gave him a long, long look, and nodded, retreating. He sighed as he calmed down. “Sorry,” he muttered to Ph - COULSON, dammit.

“That’s alright. We all have demons.” Coulson paused. “It doesn't have to be a date.”

“No - I - Uh -” He kind of wanted it to be, he wanted to say, but he was scared. Terrified. Ty had broken him.

“A friend-date? This time, at least.”

“Yeah.” No! Yes! I dunno!

“...Can I ask who?”

Tony just shook his head. And it had been such a good day, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a wild Darcy appears. I have to admit that I was NOT expecting that. It just sorta happened.
> 
> And there is an excellent explanation for why she was not present in His Cellist, I may or may not share it.
> 
> The reason Tony is less angsty here is that he feels safe at this little place in Portland. It's a haven for him, and he trusts Darcy to keep an eye out for him. Also, Tony's ignoring the fact this feels like a date until the issue is brought up. He's had a good day and he's trying to keep it that way.
> 
> Poor Coulson, though; it's like taking two steps forward and one step back. Still, he got a first date!


	8. I Will Try to Fix You

Phil lingered in the small booth long after Tony left, thinking. He was so lost in thought he almost didn't notice Lewis sliding into the seat across from him.

“He’s been hurt.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” Darcy replied. “Look, it’s not my story to tell, and I don’t know a lot of it, but I like you, so I’ll give you a hint.”

“I won’t turn down any help you’re willing to give.” Phil replied.

“What do you know about Tony?”

“I know that he plays the cello, and that his best friends are Jarvis and Rhodey, who has been overseas for most of the last decade. I know he still has the old bots he built at MIT, and one of them is named Dummy. I know that he doesn't trust easily, and he spends his free time wandering back alleys looking for fights and drinks. And his favorite color is every possible shade of blue.”

“You know more than most. I didn't even know the cello thing - which I won’t mention to him. One thing you need to know is that if you know things about him he hasn't told you, he reacts… badly. I’ll tell him we had this conversation, but it’s probably best you don’t bring it up.”

Phil nodded.

“I met Tony about two years ago, when he stumbled in through those doors dripping wet and demanding a coffee, looking more like he needed a trip to the hospital. I made him sit while we whipped it up, and asked what his hurry was. We got to chatting, and he told me that his boyfriend of three years would be pissed if he missed the plane home. Apparently it had been two weeks since they’d seen each other last.” Darcy took a deep breath. “And he was just going to go back to the bastard.”

Phil’s hands clenched in his lap. 

“So I’m sitting here, talking to the most famous man on the planet, and all I can think is that he seems way too fragile. He apologized almost every time he talked, and he wouldn't meet my eyes, and for a guy in a hurry he certainly didn't want to go anywhere.” 

Darcy’s voice sank into almost a whisper. 

“And this man, when he finally gets up to leave, just turns around and says thank you, all quiet and small and it’s not for the coffee, and I couldn't help but hug him and say, ‘don’t go back, you deserve better.’ Next thing I know, he’s sobbing into my shoulder and looking totally confused about why, and he just says ‘I can’t’ over and over and over…” she trailed away, closing her eyes and taking a quick breath. Phil is almost shaking with rage at the unknown assailant. “Eventually I ask why and he explained that he’d tried to leave before, but he gets all twisted up in this jerk's words, and doesn't know if he remembers how to function without the abuse, and he can’t go public because his company would take the hit, and he can’t risk all those people’s jobs, and he just can’t.” She falls silent.

“How did you convince him?”

“I told him that he didn't have to leave; he just had to stop going back. I just so happened to have a spare bedroom.” Darcy smiled. “And so he stayed a while. His company was all in a tizzy, but they weren't too worried.” The smile turns downright murderous. “A week later, this guy in a posh suit and a fancy car turned up on our step, asking around. I don’t think he’s made it out of jail yet, and last I heard, SI bought out his entire company and made it part of their medical research division.”

“Good.” Phil says, viciously. 

“He isn't healed. I don’t know if he ever will be.” Darcy replies. “But he’s closer than he was, and as far as these things go, he got away relatively easily - not to say it was easy, it never is, but it’s usually harder to convince someone to leave the abuser, and convincing them that they didn't deserve it is even harder. I think Tony still believes he did... which, come to think of it, might be why he fights.”

“I’ll just have to show him otherwise, then.” Phil Coulson was good at fixing things so they would never break again, and somewhere along the way, he’d slipped into love with the shattered billionaire.

* * *

_He looked down at him, eyes hard. “You know very well I told you not to touch my car!”_

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry - I just wanted to improve -” he choked as He pressed a foot down on his throat._

_“You know very well that I can’t let that go. You need a punishment. It’s for your own good - I don’t like punishing you, but if I don’t you’ll never learn, Tony.”_

_A whimper worked its way past the two cracked ribs and the strangling pressure on his throat, which only eased when he started to see spots. He was right, he needed to learn his lesson. When He drew back a fist, he threw up an arm anyway, instinctively attempting to protect his head, he felt the fist make contact -_

Tony threw himself backwards off of his workbench with a yell, stiff muscles screaming in protest as Jarvis calmly began reciting statistics, the date, the weather, meaningless strings of numbers. Slowly he felt tension ease out of his shoulders, but he couldn't quite stop himself from trembling and wrapping his arms around his torso. He swore he could still feel the pain that lasted weeks after that particular punishment. “Jarvis,” he gasped.

“He’s gone sir.” Jarvis replied gently. “And he isn't coming back.”

Tony nodded, still trembling and trying to breathe, leaning back against the wall. It had been a while since one of those nightmares - about three months - but he wasn't surprised. A small chirp drew his attention up to where Dummy held a blanket, which he let gently fall into the billionaire’s lap.

“Thanks, bud.” Tony managed to rasp out, his breathing beginning to even out as Jarvis opened the garage door and let the delicious salt air blowing in off the ocean fill the space. He wished someone were around to cuddle with. He knew his desire for physical contact was highly unusual after the amount of time he had spent with Stone, but part of why the abuse had continued for so long was his longing for any contact he could get. Not just physical - or one-night stands would be plenty - but emotional. He still considered his relationship with Tiberius to be the only real emotional connection he’d had until Darcy (well, besides Jarvis, and Rhodey, who was overseas the majority of that time period), twisted and warped and manipulative as it had been. A lifetime of isolation, devoid of meaningful physical contact and emotional ties, turned him into… well, this. A pathetic little… 

“ _No. You are a victim. Lots of other people are victims, too, Tony. And you know what? Victims are the strongest of us all. They have to survive more than the rest of us. So the way I see it, you have a choice to make. You can stay a victim, live your whole life believing it. Or, you can turn yourself into something much more.”_

_“Like what?”_

_“A survivor._ ”

“Jarvis.”

“I thought it an opportune moment to remind you of Miss Lewis’ words, Master Stark.”

“Good timing, buddy.” The words didn't magically make everything better, but they didn't have to. They just had to get him through this moment, so he could arrive at the next.

“Would you like me to call Agent Coulson?”

“What? Why?”

“You yelled his name when you woke, sir.”

WHAT. 

“No.” Tony paused. “I shouldn't trust him. He’s… well. I don’t even know who he works for. I know nothing about him. I shouldn't. I've only known him for like a month!”

“According to my databases, it has been nearly three since your initial meeting; ignoring that, it has been almost precisely two since your second meeting, and you have met with him a total of seven times since.”

“That’s…”

“Accounting for his ten day absence for this mission, at least once a week, sir. And I think it quite likely you know more than you believe.”

Tony knew very well half of Jarvis’ goal in talking about this was to distract him, but at the moment, he’d take it. “Well... he plays piano. He works with someone named Clint, who apparently is a man-child. He likes a good burger. He feels a lot more than he shows he does. He isn't after my money. Darcy likes him, and he has an unhealthy obsession with all things Captain America. He has a sweet tooth, but he doesn't dislike spicy foods, and he prefers paper books to eBooks - and he loves reading, especially comics and epic fantasies.” Tony paused. Blinked. “Huh.”

“Indeed, sir.”

“But… I just… I don’t trust people, especially men, and never, ever this fast! I shouldn't!”

“Perhaps, sir. May I order something for you to eat?” Good old Jarvis, always able to tell when Tony needed a subject change. Though… he felt surprisingly calm, after one of _those_ nightmares.

“I’m not hungry.”

If he could have, Jarvis would be sighing right now, he just knew it. “Of course, sir.”

“Pull up one of our projects, J. Something tricky.” 

He thought as he lost himself to the work. Maybe, just maybe. If it was Phil. Maybe he could try again. Even if he didn't deserve it. And a maybe was a lot more than he had yesterday. Today was looking to be a surprisingly less than awful day.

“Wait - how do you have his number?”

“I believe Miss Lewis got it and put it in your phone. She ‘ships it’, sir.”

“Great, just what I needed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. I was a little stuck until about one in the morning right when I got into bed. Luckily for all of you, I believe sleep to be overrated when there's nothing to do in the morning.


	9. Too in Love to Let it Go

**November 30, 2006**

Phil adjusted the sling, considering as he stared at the number in his phone Darcy gave him. Now. To call, or not. He had the next week off - even he couldn’t fill out paperwork until he was allowed to move his dominant arm - and that concert Clint had slipped him tickets to was Saturday… He could certainly use the break, after the horrid mission he, Natasha and Clint just finished. He knew for a fact both had asked for a week off and gotten it - despite only lasting three days, this one was nightmare inducing. Human trafficking missions always were.

He didn’t linger long - he wasn’t one to hesitate. If Tony still needed some time or space, he could say no.

“Hello?”

“Hello - it’s Phil Coulson.”

“Yeah, Jarvis said - what’s up?” he heard some shuffling and murmuring before the other end of the line went silent again.

“I have two tickets to a concert in Los Angeles this weekend, and I was wondering if you would care to go.” Phil said. “Since I’ll be home for once.”

Silence on the other end for an unbearably long moment. “One sec,” Tony said, and muffled voices came through.

“-concert on-”

“-board - don’t think Oba-”

“Potts -”

Potts? His PA?

“I’d love to come,” Tony said at last, returning to the call, “but I have a board meeting I’ve already had to reschedule twice. They’ll murder me if I do so again.” He sounded genuinely apologetic, and hesitated slightly before continuing. “...But I could get tickets to the same concert Sunday, if you’d like? It’s not opening night…”

“That sounds good.” Phil replied. “I’ll give the tickets to Clint and his partner. They will enjoy them.”

“Meet at the cafe across the street at six?”

“Perfect.” Phil smiled. “See you then, Tony.”

“See you.”

* * *

“Mr. Stark, who was that?”

“Uuuh… A friend?”

Potts raised an eyebrow. “Friend, or boyfriend? That sounded distinctly like the latter.”

Tony flushed. “Friend.” he insisted. She rolled her eyes.

“Which car are you planning to take?”

“My incognito one. And Happy can have the night off, too.”

The redhead nodded, and a comfortable silence fell. Tony respected this woman - Ms. Potts already had stuck around longer than any other PA he’d ever had, and done a better job than any of them. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?”

“That will be all, Ms. Potts.”

She headed out, but paused at the door. “For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’m happy you have someone, Tony.” 

He blinked and she was gone up the stairs.

“Thanks, Pepper,” he whispered to the empty air of the lab. “Jarvis, have you got those tickets?”

“Yes, sir.”

“...I’m going out with him again.” Tony said, the information still waiting to sink in. It was odd, how many good days he’d had since their friend-date last week. Almost all of them. He’d only had one truly bad day, and he hadn’t even played Roulette. He’d still had the gun ready, but still.

“For the record sir, I believe this to be one of your better decisions.”

“You would.”

“Shall I call Miss Lewis?”

“Oh, hell no. She won’t let me live it down.”

* * *

“Well hello, _bello re randagio_.”

Tony turned and his mouth went dry, because Ph- Coul- fine, Phil, but he would not say it aloud, that would be an admission of emotional attachment he most definitely _did not feel_ \- was in jeans, a leather jacket, and sunglasses. Delivering compliments in Italian. Also, that motorbike? Absolutely gorgeous. “Ciao, agente. You should wear jeans more often.” Oops. That last bit was out loud. Thankfully, Phil let it go with just a raised eyebrow at the wide leer he decided to cover his panic with.

“You speak Italian?”

“ _Madre_ was Italian. She didn’t just teach me to love the strings.”

“I love Italy,” Phil replied somewhat wistfully. “The food is just…”

“I’ll cook for you sometime.” Wait, he would? Where had that come from? He didn’t cook for anyone. Not even himself. Not since Maria’s death, nine years ago. Okay, once, for Ty. That had been a mistake.

“You can cook?”

“Yes. I’m not completely useless.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tony knew that, but Phil managed to see behind the mask. Self-defense mechanism two, verbal defenses, including the twisting of others’ words, kicked in on automatic after that (also, he really was almost completely useless). Almost no one made it past barrier two. He shrugged. “Dinner?”

“Absolutely. This cafe any good?”

“They’re pretty decent.” Tony replied, opening the door. “Nothing like Portland, but still.”

“I’m ruined for burgers after Portland.” Phil sighed. “They were absolutely heavenly.”

They chatted and made small talk over the meal, and Tony found himself surprised by how comfortable he felt. He notoriously failed at small talk, and here he was, barely even noticing the passing time or his quickly emptying plate. At one point that bike came up and Tony mentioned he’d been itching to get his fingers in it since he saw it, before hastily trying to backtrack ( _\- told you not to touch my car, you -_ ). Coulson laughed and said he didn’t mind. 

“You love it, don’t you?” Phil asked. “Inventing.”

Tony grinned, mind far away for a moment, considering the schematics for his most recent creation, and he nodded. “Oh yeah. Everything and anything tech related I can get my greasy fingers on, preferably with a screwdriver and a wrench. Or computers, but that’s a different sort of satisfaction. I may or may not hack the Pentagon pretty regularly just for the hell of it.”

Phil laughed again. He… laughed a lot, actually, when he was in casual wear. “Why am I not surprised.”

And even weirder - Tony laughed too. Really laughed. As they stood from their chairs, Tony stretched and grinned. “I’m sure the concert would be fabulous, but what say we forgo that and go for a ride?”

“Careful, I might think you only like me for my motorbike,” Phil replied.

Tony felt himself freeze for just a split second before logic caught up to tell him the Agent was teasing. “Yeah, well,” he said, grinning. “She’s gorgeous, and I can always appreciate a beautiful lady.”

A sidelong glance told him Phil noticed. “I don’t have a spare helmet with me, but there’s a place a few streets over that will probably still be open, and I know a nice ride down the beach.” And let it go. Oh, good.

“Brilliant. I’ll just let Happy know to get the car tomorrow.” Tony said. “Because once I’m on that beauty, I’m not getting off until I’m home.” 

He had debated for a long, long time before whether to let Phil drive him home or not if it came up, but in the end, Jarvis and Darcy (he’d given in and called her) convinced him. He spent the majority of his time at the Malibu house, or in the New York penthouse, and if he wanted to see Phil again (which he just might) it would make it way easier, since he doubted Phil had a permanent residence. From the sound of it, the Agent travelled even more than he did.

“I’m quite amenable.” Phil replied. Tony smiled, genuinely. He loved that the agent didn’t make a big deal of things.

Loved? _No,_ he said sternly to his heart. 

But he could definitely appreciate it.


	10. Could it be Worse?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING**
> 
> This is a VERY VERY VERY ANGSTY chapter. Please, Please, PLEASE don't read it if you're triggered in anyway by suicide, suicidal thoughts, or depression. I'm really glad you all like the story so far, but I don't want to trigger anyone!

**December 22-23, 2006**

December flies by, and with little interaction from either man. It’s Tony’s busiest time of year, and he spends at least four nights a week at charities and galas. Phil is slightly disgruntled by this, but really his schedule isn’t any better; he’s been handling recruitment of agents for the new year and various missions both Barton and Romanov are sent on with a master’s hand. Fury’s been giving him odd looks, though, so clearly his grumpiness at not getting to visit his cellist is shining through. By now, the entire organization has heard about the legendary man who has tamed the heart of SHIELD’s finest, though none of them know who exactly he is. He is simply The Cellist, and the rumors are ridiculous. Phil can’t help but imagine Tony’s reaction to some of them. Finally, he demands a couple days off and gets them, and calls Pepper (who had called him at one point, informed him that she’d gotten his number from Jarvis, and demanded forewarning).

“I just called to inform you I have a flight booked to Malibu.”

“Oh thank God.” She practically sobs, and Phil’s hackles go up. Clint is looking at him warily, but he just shakes his head. “Phil, he locked himself in and I can’t get into him, and something is very, very wrong.”

“Tell me.” He demands, already sliding into the seat of his car, because screw debriefing, heading for the private jet Fury booked for him in silent apology for the long month.

“It’s been a really long month, and he won’t tell me what’s wrong - he wouldn’t even admit anything was wrong, but I know him. I can’t get in, and he isn’t going out. Jarvis won’t - or can’t - tell me anything except that Tony is playing his cello. I’ve been getting the same answer for hours, Phil -”

“Breathe, I’m on my way. Have you called Portland?”

“Yeah, but Darcy can’t get a flight. I sent the jet, but she won’t be here until tomorrow, and it’ll be too late then.”

An iron lump of dread settled in Phil’s stomach at everything Pepper wasn’t saying, and he hit the gas. “I’ll land in four and a half hours, call you then.”

* * *

Tony is tired of December dragging its feet as it ambles past. He just can’t wait for this whole ridiculous, awful month to _end_. He spends his days with simpering idiots who can’t tell a socket wrench from a screwdriver and his evenings with gold-diggers and cameras. He hasn’t seen his own skin beneath the make-up and suits since the beginning of the month, and although he believes in the causes he donates money to - obscene amounts, even for him, but it isn’t enough, he isn’t enough, never enough - older demons than Ty have come back to haunt him. He can’t stand the attention and the people, all hiding behind smiles as fake and plastic as his own, one big charade everyone knows is there and refuses to acknowledge. 

(He misses blue eyes and warm laughter and real smiles, but he’s not about to admit that to himself, because chances are that Phil isn’t going to come back again - sure, he calls, but he’ll realize soon enough what a mistake it is - what a mistake _he_ is, like HE did.)

Jarvis tries to convince him to let Pepper in, tries to help - of course he does, the beautiful, wonderful machine - but Tony can feel that hollow, festering pit in his stomach eating him from the inside out, inching its way up his chest, and he has had enough. It hurts. It’s always hurt, and he -

(- has been doing so good _worthless_ it’s been almost three weeks since he played roulette _filthy little pain slut_ or went fighting so others could hurt him _need it, don’t you, ha,_ because he was too weak to do it himself and he’d rather feel pain than nothing at all until he does _oh no, you sit there and TAKE IT, boy_ and HE is getting out of jail-)

\- drinks far more than he should, trying to make it all go away. He doesn’t think he’s been sober all month, and it isn’t helping. It never did really, except sometimes he got lucky and passed out before he could do something stupider than usual. He finally has a night free, and he’s been at the window for hours, staring out over the sea as his fingers danced across strings. He turned his phone off and started ignoring calls from Pepper and Darcy a long time ago. It’s been at least four hours, and his fingers hurt, burn, but it’s better than the alternative (cold metal, more familiar than a soft touch, he can see it over there on the piano, so tempting) and so he keeps playing, knowing he’ll be bleeding soon. The ocean is beautiful, and that hurts, too - why? He’s glad it’s gray today, at least - he couldn’t handle it blue.

That’s when he snaps a string with a loud pop. He stares for a moment as he unravels the broken silver strand.

And then it’s Tony who’s snapping, gently laying the cello aside and frantically, desperately reaching for another bottle of whiskey, because it hurts and he needs it to stop, and he’s telling Jarvis to play him a lullaby - a whiskey lullaby - and he sees the gun, and if he’d ever really wanted to die it would have been easy, he always knows which chamber the single bullet is in thanks to a lifetime of designing them, but tonight he doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care, and he’s fumbling with the cold metal like his life depends on it (his death does) barely noticing the red ink dripping from his hands to smother the sleek black or the ocean dripping from his eyes to clean it off again.

(He isn’t sure why it hurts so much more today - by all rights, he should be better, not worse, but it’s Christmas and he’s alone again.)

_“-and when they buried him beneath the willow -_ " 

“Sir, please -” Click.

_“-angels sang a whiskey lullaby -_

Click. “Tony, this isn’t -” As the song ended, Tony paused with the barrel in his mouth as the next one started, only vaguely aware that time was passing. He didn’t recognize what made him stop for that moment, didn’t register the AI using his name, triggering some lingering logic somewhere in the back of his brain. 

...Click.

_“-trust me and take my hand-”_

Ha. He’s alone. No one to trust or be trusted by except his own creations. Click.

“-rather feel pain than nothing at all-”

Two left. Bring on the nothingness.

Click.

SLAM.

BANG he drops the gun and it skitters across the floor, but he doesn’t bother to look up and see who just broke down the door or what he hit. Tony, quite simply, doesn’t care. He’s drunk and alone and afraid and so, so tired but can’t sleep. Last time he’d been this low, he’d gone to the hospital for two weeks and Obie paid for the cover-up (didn’t want the company name so sullied). He didn’t understand. Things had finally started looking up. Why did it hurt so much? 

He didn’t bother trying to wipe away the silent tears. Vaguely aware of someone yelling at him, he obeyed at first, but stopped because standing seemed so hard.

“-please-”

Okay. So he stood, because no one should ever sound so… sad. Uncertain. Gentle thumbs wiped the wetness from his face. “-look-me-”

So he does. Phil. Why is Phil here? Soft fingers seek to dry his tears in a motion that he hasn’t felt since he was four and Jarvis tucked him into bed after a long day.

“-talk to me?”

And he likes Phil, he really does, even if he’s just going to leave like the others, so he forces his mouth to spit something out and Phil looks so relieved, and so he’s quiet again.

* * *

Phil, at Jarvis direction, stops to by a D string at a music store on the way. He’s going over the speed limit - WAY over - and somehow hitting every green light, but he is terrified to the depths of his soul that he isn’t going fast enough, and Jarvis’ has only gotten more desperate. He’s sprinting past Pepper, on the phone with Darcy, telling her to stay there, let him deal with this, and she’s nodding and crying and going to sit in her car.

Jarvis can’t open the door, but the door isn’t stopping him, and he slams into it, and it opens to a loud bang.

The first thing he registers is the overpowering scent of whiskey, and the silence.

The second thing he registers is the bullet in the the wall.

The third thing he registers is that Tony _isn’t fucking breathing_.

“Tony! Tony, breathe!” Tony still doesn’t look at him, but he does start breathing, and Phil chokes back his initial panic, he needs to stay calm.

“Tony, stand up.”

His eyes are empty of everything except tears, and he looks like he’s giving up on everything. He’s following the orders on automatic, because he doesn’t really care, so why not? Phil’s heart thuds in his chest, and he can feel the horror of how close it had come, and if he’s been a second slower - He can’t think about that right now. Right now, he needs to be steady for Tony.

“Tony, come on.” Tony frowns, which is both reassuring and worrying - because he’s aware enough to reject things he doesn’t like, but Phil really needs to get him showered and in bed to sleep of the whiskey before they talk about this. “Tony, follow me, please.”

Tony does, frown easing off of his face, and Phil wraps gentle fingers around his wrist, supporting the drunk man as he stumbles. “Tony look at me.” Tony does, and something like recognition flashes across his face. Phil wipes a careful thumb across cold cheeks, chasing away saltwater. Strangely, this just makes the man cry more. One thing at a time, Phil firmly told himself, forcing himself into something like work mode. He carefully pulled Tony up the stairs and to his room, directed by Jarvis, and had Tony sit on the bed. The complete silence was unnerving. Tony was never silent, ever. “Tony,” he said softly. “Talk to me?”

“...s hard.” the genius croaked.

“Okay, we’ll talk tomorrow. Is that okay, Tony?”

A nod. 

“I want you to take a shower. Can you do that for me?”

Another nod, and Phil led him to the bathroom, where Jarvis agreed to keep an eye on the genius while Phil found a pair of soft sweats and a tank top. He put them in the bathroom and sat outside, standing when he heard Jarvis gently coax the billionaire to try himself. He gave it a few minutes, and knocked. “Tony, can I come in?”

The door opened to reveal Tony, fully clothed and shivering a bit. Phil frowned slightly and returned to the closet, grabbing an obviously well-loved hoodie and tugging it over the tank. The engineer hadn’t moved, still just tracking Phil with careful eyes and breathing. “You need sleep, Tony.”

“...don’ wanna.” Tony said, eyes dropping to the floor as he braced himself.

“Okay.” Phil isn’t going to be able to stay calm much longer. “How about hot chocolate and a move?”

Tony, after an agonizing pause, nodded. Phil carefully got him situated on a small couch in a small study, telling him to stay. Tony nodded, and Phil left for a moment, leaving him to watch whatever Jarvis deemed best at the moment.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?” No, he wasn’t sir, that was Tony. He slumped against the wall, allowing a bit of exhaustion to peek through with his worry, tears pricking his eyes that he refused to let fall.

“Did something trigger this?” Because he'd suspected Tony might have some problems, but not to this extent, and he'd seemed better, happier, than when they first met. This was a major setback that simply didn't make sense.

A pause, and a small hologram popped up on a window. Phil glanced over it briefly; it was a news article about a high-level jail release of one Tiberius Stone, far earlier than originally sentenced. 

He didn’t know what to do. He knew someone who might, though. Someone who could have his back while he waited for Darcy.

“Jarvis… keep an eye on him. I need to make a call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> On my timeline (which I may be willing to post if enough people show interest) I didn't even write a description. It literally says
> 
> Dec 23 FEELS
> 
> and that's it. So I'm sorry. I cried too.
> 
> Also, I just went through my bookmarks and cleaned house, so if anyone is looking for some good Tony Feels please feel free to check my recs. :)
> 
>  
> 
> [Here's some fluff to go with the angst.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/432261)


	11. Secret Thoughts were said Aloud

“Hey, Coulson! So you’re never gonna believe -”

“Barton.”

“- what just happened, I mean seriously -”

“Clint.”

Silence. “...Coulson? Where are you?”

“At the cellist’s place. Clint.”

“What happened?” He moved, slipping weapons into boots and a quiver over his back. Vacation would have to wait. Natasha mimicked him across the room.

A slight hitched breath ratcheted up his already shot nerves. “I've found out who hurt him.”

“Just tell me who.”

“This is illegal -”

“Phil. Who.” Natasha’s at his side in an instant, acknowledging the silent panic behind using Phil’s actual name.

“Tiberius Stone.”

“Do you want us to take care of it?”

“I… yes.”

“Consider him dead. Nat and I are already moving.” He scrawled the name out for her, she read it and burned it, turning to her secure, non-SHIELD computer. “Talk to me, Phil.”

“If I’d been a second later,” his handler replied, breath hitching again, “the bullet wouldn't have gone into the wall.”

“What do you need - besides this?”

“Just - I need to understand, but I’m not going to get much out of him tonight. The only thing he’s managed to say is that talking is too hard right now.”

“You said you thought he was doing better.”

“I think Stone getting out triggered this -”

“You know better, there has to be more to it than that, hm?”

Quiet. “It’s… often people suffering from severe depression in any form, which I believe he was, are a lot less likely to… because they can’t work up the necessary intensity of emotions or willpower to pull the trigger. They’re in more danger when they start recovering.”

“There we go, that sounds more like you.” He followed Natasha out the door. “One sec, switching to coms… Check.”

“Working.”

“Okay, Phil, you and Tasha are on.”

“This isn't exactly SHIELD approved.”

“Neither are these coms.”

“You two spending Christmas at a bolthole?”

“That’s classified.” Clint replies. “Are you okay?”

“Not really. He just wouldn't stop crying.”

Natasha decided to non-answer that non-question. “When one is accustomed to anger and pain, or when grieving, a kind gesture tends to break down one’s defenses faster than anything else. They are harder to defend against because they are new.”

Phil was already calmer, his breathing even once more. “So you’re saying he wanted to cry anyway, but my being kind made him unable to stop himself?”

“I’d imagine it was actually quite a relief. Are you with him now?”

“He’s the next room over, watching Looney Tunes. He didn't want to sleep.”

“Sleep and darkness equate with being alone or afraid. I’d imagine the release of Stone will trigger some nightmares, as well.”

“Nice eval, Barton. I won't leave him alone now, but do you want me on coms?”

“Only if you want to be, sir.” Natasha nodded in agreement. "Seems like a pretty cut and dry assignment."

“Check-in at least once a day.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stay off radar. Please don’t use an arrow.”

“Fiiiiine.”

“Remind me never to let the two of you meet. It would be a nightmare.”

“But Coulson…”

Phil hung up on him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm in the process of moving for the school year, so it may be a while before I post again. Just a heads-up.


	12. Christmas

The cool air felt crisp and real against cheeks. He could feel something warm at his shoulder, supporting him easily, relaxed and comfortable. The warmth smelled like coffee and leather. Last night felt like a vague blur on his brain, but he didn't think he had gone out anywhere, or brought anyone back. Familiar footsteps entered the space, along with the crinkling of large quantities of Wal-Mart bags slung over a single pair of arms. A short conversation he didn't really catch took place, the footsteps moving away again.

Tony opened his eyes, blinking slightly. “...Coulson?”

“Tony! You’re awake! Much earlier than I expected.”

Tony hadn't notice the screaming hangover until Phil handed him a tall glass of water and Advil, when it attacked with a vengeance. Groaning, he shut his eyes again and took deep breaths, trying not to puke. “What happened?” He asked. “I can’t remember at all.”

“I’m not surprised - I’m amazed you were still standing, frankly.” Huh. When had Phil’s fingers started running through his hair like that, because wow magic fingers. Headache gone.

“Umnggahbuuuh,” he managed, leaning further into those fingers. A warning bell dinged at the back of his head, but Tony ignored it. Phil laughed a little, wobbly.

“You’re going to have to fix your door.” The agent said.

“Huh?”

“There’s the bullet hole, too.”

Tony blinked trying to focus, but he really couldn't remember anything. “What? Bullet hole? Why’s the door broken?”

“Because you wouldn't let Jarvis let anyone in and you were trying to kill yourself, nitwit.”

“Darcy? The hell - wait, I… oh. OH.” Snippets of information slipped their way through his brain like liquid, fluid and slow. “Oh.”

“Yes. Oh.” Phil said, sounding upset. “I called in Natasha and Clint, so Stone probably won’t be making it back to jail. Of course, he won’t be making it anywhere else, either. I also have leave until January fifth. Now, you are going to get up and eat a good breakfast, and then we’re going out.”

This was the weirdest morning of his life, and that was seriously saying something. “Uh… Out where?”

* * *

Tony stared at the travesty of a Charlie Brown Christmas tree sitting in his living room with a small pile of presents underneath. He had the strangest urge to go shake the boxes to try and find out exactly what was in them, but he really wasn't a child. When Darcy came in and started wildly shaking his and Phil’s gifts for her, though, his composure broke and he joined her on the floor.

Thus far he managed to avoid talking about what happened (and what on Earth was still happening, what were these people doing in his house, where did they even come from). He was still trying to wrap his head around the idea that Stone was gone, dealt with by Phil’s assassin friends. That had to break all kinds of laws and regulations, and they did it willingly. For him.

“It’s a good thing I planned for this or that might already have broken.” Phil said from behind him, amused. Tony squeaked and nearly dropped the package as Darcy pouted. 

“No wonder I can’t hear anything.” she grumbled.

“Or maybe your box is just a box.” Phil said.

Darcy stared at him. “That… that is either cruel or ingenious, and I can’t decide which.” Phil smirked a bit, something he did only rarely and only around these two weirdos.

“Takeout’s here,” he said, “Much as I hate to promote working on Christmas Eve.”

Tony nodded as Darcy got up to leave, still staring at the tree. He heard her enter the kitchen. He hadn't had a Christmas Eve spent with someone else since college, before Rhodey went overseas. He wasn't entirely sure how to deal with it.

Gentle fingers slipped into his and tugged lightly. “Come on, genius, it’s just a tree,” Phil said.

“A lame tree, captain obvious,” Tony grumbled, letting himself be pulled to his feet for whatever reason. Phil’s hands were warm. “Seriously, Charlie Brown himself would be ashamed of our tree.”

“Yes, but it’s our tree.”

Tony didn't have anything to say to that, and another subject rose unbidden to his lips. “Do we have to talk about…”

“Yes. But it can wait until after Christmas.” Phil said. “We have until January fifth.”

“What if the world ends?”

“Well then my boss can shove it.”

Tony blinked a couple times, refusing to look Phil in the eye still. “Okay then.”

“Hey, if you two don’t hurry up I’m eating all the lo mein!”

Darcy had perfect timing, Tony thought, grinning. “Don’t you dare! I ordered that lo mein, fair and square!” She raised an eyebrow and chopsticks full of Chinese food at him as he came around the corner, and he let out a wounded cry. “How - how could you?” He moaned as Phil chuckled. “I may faint with the horror of stolen Chinese food.”

“There’s another box, Tony.”

“Oh!” He perked up at once. “Gimme!”

“Spoiled brat,” Darcy muttered, passing him the box. Her lips twitched.

“That! You’re laughing at me, that’s a laughing face!”

“Is not.”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Children, children,” Phil said, smiling softly at them.

“Sorry, dad,” they chorused, bursting into laughter. Tony grinned, unrestrained. He wasn't sure how yesterday could be so bad and today so good, but for the moment, he thought what he felt might be happiness, and he would grab on with both hands for as long as he could. His issues wouldn't magically go away, and they all still needed to talk, but today… today was good.

“Helllooooo, earth to Tony!”

“Huh? Sorry, what?” he asked.

“We’re going to watch a Muppet Christmas Carol, and then The Christmas Box, and then the one with the shoes,” Darcy said, “And then we are going to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am!” he laughed.

* * *

Tony woke up spread along the couch in the living room, where he must have fallen asleep while watching movies the night before. He was sort of relieved and horrified all at once. Had Darcy and Phil left? Was it all some kind of dream and he was alone at Christmas, or -

“Agent Coulson and Miss Lewis are in the kitchen making breakfast, if you would care to join them, Master Stark.”

“Thanks, J.” He said, taking a deep breath, but he didn't move. “I’m… sorry.” He couldn't - what were the right words for this? How did he apologize for making a friend watch…

“I am sorry too, sir.” Jarvis said quietly, and oh. Maybe he has the right words after all. 

A knock at the door. Footsteps. “Director, I believe I still have over a week of vacation time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I just came to drop this off. Those agents of yours seemed pretty determined I deliver it. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, sir.” The door closed and the footsteps returned. “Tony, you’re awake!” Phil smiled at him.

“Um… so they know, ah, I’m.”

“Only the director, and it isn't written or recorded anywhere.” Phil eyed him. “I had considered telling Clint and Natasha, but we need to discuss that first. Nick knows because not only have we been friends for a very long time, but he is also my boss and the head of a covert organization. He understands both the need for secrecy and for trust.”

Tony nodded. “What’s in the box?”

Phil shrugged. “It’s for you.”

Tony blinked and took it, carefully removing the perfect wrapping paper. An ornate box slightly larger than his fist and painted in beautiful dark blue swirls lay in his lap. Tony reached forward and lifted the clasp. A single bullet lay on a small satin pillow, song lyrics painted across the lid in matching dark blue.

_Your lies crumble down; a new life he has found. - Red Jumpsuit Apparatus_

Inexplicable tears form at the corners of Tony’s eyes as he fights them back. “They left a note.” Phil said, allowing him the time to fight off the tears. He reaches out to take the small slip of paper, hands trembling minutely.

_Hi, oh-so-mysterious cellist. My name is Clint, and this is from my partner Natasha and I to you. He will never bother you again. It doesn't change what happened before - but let go. If you let him destroy your future, then he’s won. Don’t let him win. Merry Christmas._

Gentle thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. “Hey, hey, you okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony says, voice hoarse. “I think so.” He… Probably, shouldn't feel so relieved. He shouldn't cry with relief, either, shouldn't cry at all, but the last couple of days it feels like he can’t stop. “Why am I crying, this is ridiculous -”

“Tears are the way we move forward,” Phil said calmly. “They are how we release pent-up emotion. They are a sign of healing.”

Healing, huh. He kind of likes the sound of that.

“Thank you.” he says, stiffly, and it isn't enough, he can’t ever find the right words.

“Thank you,” Phil replies, and oh. Maybe he has the right words after all. "Merry Christmas, Tony."

"Merry Christmas... Phil."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought poor Tony deserved a little bit of a break. Also, Clint and Natasha have slightly distorted views of what makes a good Christmas present, but Tony appreciates it; he doesn't really have qualms about killing bad people. He's a good guy, but still in the weapons business at this point, remember? He's also a bit overwhelmed.


	13. Around the World

**December 29, 2006**

Darcy left on December 27 to spend New Years with her family, but the days she is there are a type of blissful Tony had forgotten existed. With her and Phil there, and Pepper stopping by to join in their happiness on the 26, it felt like he was surrounded by people who actually care, who he cares about. It’s the first Christmas he hasn’t spent either alone or in pain (or both) since he spent one with the Rhodes back in college.

He tried very hard to take the mysterious Clint and Natasha’s advice and ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling him to stop getting attached because it was just going to end in heartbreak and misery, because maybe - maybe it wouldn’t.

Maybe he could keep this.

He and Phil talk on the 27, and it was messy and emotional and such a relief that Tony wasn’t quite sure what he was upset about. Phil wants to help him. Him. He isn’t trying to change the shape of his heart or the methods of his mind, he’s just trying to piece them back together a little stronger, a little lighter.

With the revelation that he wanted to keep Phil, Tony decided it was about time he make a long overdue phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Rhodey.”

“Tones! I haven’t heard from you in a while, how are you? Are you okay, I saw you on the news the other day and you looked exhausted -”

“Do you think you could get a leave? I need to talk.”

“I’ll do my best. Are you okay?”

“Actually, yeah, I think I am,” Tony admitted. “Remember those three years I was kinda off-radar?”

“Yeah.” Rhodey’s voice went sort of quiet. Tony knew he’d terrified his best friend during the three years he had dated Ty. He’d never told Rhodey anything about it, but it was probably time. He needed to talk about it, to let it go. Besides, he wanted his best friend to meet Phil.

“It’s sort of about that and sort of not, and it is not a conversation I want to have over the phone.”

“I’ll put in for leave.” Rhodey paused. “You sound better.”

“I feel better.”

“I’ll let you know as soon as I can head back out there - still in Malibu?”

“Yep, although I spend a fair amount of time in Portland as well.”

“Cool.”

“Tony? Oh, sorry.” Phil smiled at him. “I didn’t know you were on the phone.”

“It’s fine, I’m almost done.”

“Tones, who’s that?” Rhodey asked.

“That’s our conversation.” Tony replied. “Let me know when you can get leave.”

“Will do.” They hung up. They never said goodbye. Goodbyes between Rhodey and Tony were for funerals; no need to jinx it.

“Who was that?” Phil asked.

“An old friend of mine, James Rhodes. He’s overseas at the moment, has been for a while.” Tony turned around and smiled at Phil, who nods. “He’s trying to get leave.”

“I came down to drag you out of your shop for lunch.” Phil said. “It’s tomorrow already.”

Tony blinked as his stomach rumbled. “Oh. What did you get?”

“I haven’t yet. Thought I’d see what you wanted.”

Tony’s mouth sort of fell open a little for a second. “Oh. Uh. I don’t really care that much. I can just make something.” He froze. He hadn’t cooked for anyone since… Well. He tried once for Tiberius but it hadn’t gone well.

“Maybe some other time,” Phil replied, raising an eyebrow, “but I think maybe we should order out so you have time to shower. You may be part robot, but the rest of us still can’t digest oil.”

Sure enough, he was absolutely covered in the stuff. It was with no small sense of relief that he agreed. “You pick,” he said, making sure to run off to the bathroom so Phil couldn’t argue. 

Logically, Tony knew Phil would just say so if he disagreed with Tony’s choice. However, just because he was trying to leave behind Ty’s influence didn’t mean it was going to happen overnight. It would take time, and effort. It had been a long, eventful week, and emotionally he couldn’t handle trying to pick what they ate right now. With Ty picking take-out had been a guessing game, and if Ty didn’t like Tony’s choices, it wasn’t fun for him; despite knowing it wouldn’t be like that with Phil, his stress levels shot up at the idea of picking what they ate.

He really didn’t care, anyway, and it was comforting to know that someone else was taking care of getting food ready for him. It wasn’t that he was submissive (well, maybe a little); but Phil got to eat whatever he wanted, Tony didn’t care what they ate, and he didn’t have to try and decide on something as dumb as what to eat. He spent his life making decisions that affected the entire country via the economy, he could take a quick break. Just for today.

Besides, Tony thought when he climbed out of the shower and smelled the Chinese takeout, Phil had good taste.


	14. A Month Ago I was Alone

**January 5, 2007**

Despite what Tony may have wished, life moved forward. He couldn’t stay in his little bubble of Christmas forever; eventually, work called, and the world needed saving; Phil had to leave. Tony tried very, very hard not to panic. Phil would come back. Phil would come back. Phil would come back. He repeated it to himself, a mantra for a broken man to survive by. Phil would come back. Phil would come back. Phil would come back.

Tony kept repeating it to himself and threw himself into his work. He couldn’t quite bring himself to actually call the other man (what if he was too clingy and Phil got annoyed, or one of his coworkers, or he called and Phil didn’t answer, what if what if what if). 

“Mr. Stark, you are very late for a very important meeting.”

“Ms. Potts,” he said, smoothing down his tie. “The fact that I remembered at all should count for something.”

“It does, but it doesn’t get you out of the meeting.”

Tony groaned.

“I’ll let you text Phil under the table.”

Oh! He hadn’t thought to text. Texting was much less scary than calling, Tony thought. Right up until the moment he was about to push send, under the table at his board meeting. What if he sounded like an idiot? He tucked his phone away and actually paid attention to his stockholders. It was one of the most boring things he had ever done in his life, but it was better than sending a stupid text. God he wanted a drink.

_I want you to promise me you will do your best not to drink._

_But…_

_Tony, please?_

_Yeah, okay, I promise or whatever -_

Right. No drinking.

* * *

Day two without Phil and Darcy around is spent in his penthouse, because Jarvis (traitor) locked him out of the lab and Pepper had planned only one meeting that day and the rest of the time for paperwork he had finished by noon. He knew she wanted to help him out somehow, make sure he got a little time to himself, and if he could get into the shop he’d be grateful.

The silence in the penthouse echoed so loudly he didn’t dare to break it. He waited for a knock on the door or the tapping of heels or the rustling of a suit to break the silence, but none came.

Phil would come back, he repeated to himself when his eyes strayed to the fridge. Phil would come back. Phil would come back.

When his fingers started twitching and his throat was dry, Jarvis informed him the workshop was unlocked. Tony ordered the AI to lock him in.

* * *

Day three.

Day threes always, always suck. Take Tuesday, for example. It’s like the hangover from Monday, in Tony’s opinion, and while everybody was busy moaning about the obvious Monday morning suckiness Tuesday sneaks up on them like some kind of traitor to all that is good in the world.

Tony hated day threes. This day three was less awful than most, however, in that he gets a text from Phil. It reads: _I’m fine, but mission is going radio silent, see you when we get back._ The fact that the mission went radio silent terrified him. Up until then he could have called Phil if he needed help not drinking or something. After, he truly was alone. (But Phil would come back, he would.) The silence practically screamed at him the third day, and Tony was afraid of himself. He called Pepper, not sure why he was calling his payed assistant but willing to do just about anything to make the fuzzy sound in his ears and the clammy feeling of his hands go away. 

Pepper listened to his chatter about his latest work with missiles indulgently. She talked to him about her inability to cook and her baby niece, who she was babysitting.

The silence was a little less daunting after that, his alcohol stash a little less tempting, but a ball of anxiety still sat curled in Tony’s gut just waiting to be triggered.

* * *

Day four was filled with meetings with various project heads in his R&D department, and by the time Tony gets home he has a headache from their collective stupidity and he collapses on the couch, too tired to be anxious.

* * *

**January 9, 2007**

Over the years, Tony learned that silence had little to do with the amount of noise in a given area. He discovered silence in crowded bars and some of the wildest parties he had ever been to. Silence lurked around corners and under vases, waiting for the chance to ensnare its victims. He could never manage to break the silence himself. The heavy, lonely silence that haunted him from birth was the closest thing he had to a father.

Tony had lived with the silence his entire life. When he was four, he found it in flashbulbs and questions. Like the rest of his life, the earliest experiences he had with silence were immortalized on film for the world to own. When Tony was eight, he found it in his father’s workshop, empty and cold. No amount of his own swearing and banging and inventing could rid him of it the way the quiet hiss of Howard working with welding gear (or the loud snap of his belt) could. When Tony was eleven, he found silence walking down long hallways, invisible to the older teenager surrounding him. High school sucked for almost everyone; it sucked even worse when a person faced it at age ten. When he was fifteen, he found it at wild college parties when Rhodey wasn’t there. When he was twenty-two, he found it in the closet where Ty locked him when he had been bad or he wanted to hear Tony sob.

Similarly, Tony had long been acquainted with stillness. Stillness and silence often went hand in hand. It wasn’t necessarily a physical stillness. Tony was very rarely still. But some days all the world seemed frozen in the same state of suckiness it always was. There was nothing quite like it. It was the way life seemed to stagnate and freeze, stick into one place and drag him down, forcing him to sludge along like he’s dragging through mud and trying to force it to move along with him. He didn’t like himself in the stillness.

Since the end of Ty, Tony heard the silence and felt the stillness everywhere. A living breathing thing determined to lay claim to him and swallow him whole. He could hear the ticking of the clock. He could hear the humming fridge. He could hear the boom of his music filling the entire house.

And over it all he could hear the untouchable, unbreakable silence he had lived with for his entire life. Once Jarvis (and later Jarvis) was enough to break it. Once Ty had been plenty, and for a while Rhodey had. But everyone left, and right now Jarvis wasn’t speaking up (couldn’t be heard over AC/DC anyway) and all he could hear was the silence..

His fingers twitched for a bottle. He slid them down the long neck of his cello. That broke the silence for a moment, filled it instead with the knowledge that his hands could create something beautiful. All too soon, however, the silence returned.

His eyes rested longingly on the fridge. He couldn’t drink. He’d promised Phil he wouldn’t. Happy Goddamn New Year.

Tearing his eyes away from the fridge, he found them resting on a knife instead. He couldn’t kill himself. He’d promised Jarvis he wouldn’t. By extension, he couldn’t go out and find someone else to do it for him.

Tony wrenched his eyes away, finding them at the door. He couldn’t go out to a party or gala. The empty smiles and aching laughs that were never for him (Phil smiled for him, with him, had something in his eyes that meant something, that meant he saw Tony, not Stark or Howard or fresh meat) only made the silence that much louder.

His footsteps were loud, but they couldn’t touch the _fucking silence_ as he practically raced from the room, away from the beckoning fridge. He found himself in the bathroom. No alcohol, no temptation, just the silence and his own thoughts. His knees slowly collapsed and he shoved himself into a corner, jammed between the sink and the tub. 

“-r! Sir, you need to breathe!”

Tony heaved a shuddering gasp, and then he couldn’t stop, his breathing coming faster and faster. He curled his arms across his chest and over his shoulders to the back of his neck, a familiar attempt at comfort. He pulled his knees in as close as his could, trying to pretend someone was there, hugging him, caring for him, but the tile freezing him through his sweats and the sharp edges of his nook didn’t allow him to.

“Tony. Deep breath. Good, breathe with me.”

He let it out with a woosh of air. Good God, he’d finally lost it and started to hallucinate.

“Good job, just keep breathing, okay, Tony? In. Out. In. Out.”

Slowly, his breathing evened. It still shuddered and stuttered, but it was continuous and regular in its stuttering. 

“There we go, isn’t that better.”

Tony opened his eyes (huh, when had he closed those) and blinked at the red-haired apparition kneeling in front of him. Her eyes were full of something soft and caring. Something for him. “...P-P…”

“Sh, sh, it’s okay. I’m right here. You aren’t alone, I’ve got you.”

He surprised them both when he lunged forward, wrapping both arms around and clinging to the back of her blouse like it was the last solid anchor he had. “S-sorry,” he gasped.

“We’re friends, Tony. It’s fine. Can you stand?”

He could, albeit shakily, still clinging to her like some kind of stupid child. “W-why’s P-pepper in my b-b-b...?” he asked.

“I called miss Potts and asked if she could be enticed to drop by, sir. She said she needed no enticement.”

“Thanks. Thanks, J.”

“Of course, sir.”

Tony closed his eyes and leaned on Pepper just a little, trying to catch his breath and still the trembling in his limbs. She tugged gently and he followed her.

The silence around him shattered with the sharp clicking of stiletto heels. Tony let himself be pulled back to the kitchen, where Pepper settled him at the counter and started heating milk on the stove and pulling various ingredients out of cupboards.

She still didn’t miss it when his eyes drifted to the fridge and his fingers twitched. Tony knew he should probably feel angry when she opened it and tsked, grabbing the cheap six-pack and dumping every bottle down the drain, but he was just relieved. She ruffled his hair on her way back to the concoction she was creating. The kitchen was quiet but for the tapping of those heels (until Pepper kicked them off with a muttered curse) and the movement of ingredients to and from their cupboards.

“I d-didn’t even know I had cocoa powder.”

“I am distinctly unsurprised,” Pepper replied, stirring the mixture before tasting it and nodding in satisfaction. She pulled two mugs from a shelf and poured the drink into both of them, handing one to Tony before settling next to him at the counter.

Tony took a sip, and the warmth of the masterfully crafted hot chocolate sank into his bones. “I… I thought I was doing better.”

“You are doing better. Obviously things won’t be perfect overnight. It’s like your inventions. You have a prototype. A second. An upgrade. It takes time to get things right.”

Tony gaped at her. Put that way, it made so much sense. Still… “I’m not a robot,” he muttered.

Pepper laughed. “You sure?”

Tony gave her a tiny smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may be interested in getting a beta reader. Anyone out there interested? It would be especially helpful if you could help me spot continuity errors and past/present tense issues. 
> 
> I've never really had a beta reader, so it would be weird, and you'd have to pretty flexible and good at keeping secrets. no spoilers.


	15. It's Hard to Say

**January 10, 2007**

“RHODEY!” Tony plowed into his old friend, nearly knocking him over. “How’ve you been? What’s -”

“Whoa, slow down!” Rhodey laughed. “At least let me set down my bags.”

“Oh, right, sorry, same guest room as ever; I’ll go get drinks - nonalcoholic, sorry, Pepper dumped all the beer down the drain…”

Rhodey blinked as the younger man strode off, heading down the hall to his usual guest bedroom. Tony, not drinking? That was a change, and for the better. Whoever the hell this Pepper person may be, he approved. Opening the door to the guest room, Rhodey set his stuff on the bed. “How’ve you been, Jarvis?”

“Quite well, Colonel Rhodes, thank you. Especially since Miss Potts and Agent Coulson have begun to visit regularly.”

“Who?”

“Miss Potts is Master Stark’s personal assistant. I believe Tony wishes to tell you about Agent Coulson himself.”

“Fair enough.” Rhodey sat to unlace his boots. “Sounds like I’ve got a lot to catch up on. Any landmines?”

“I don’t believe so, sir.”

Rhodey stood, leaving the room and closing the door behind him. “It’s good talkin’ with you, buddy.”

“Oh, sure, chat up the AI while I’m not looking,” Tony said, presenting a mug of coffee as Rhodey returned to the living room.

Rhodey took the mug and slung himself down on the couch. “So what prompted the sudden phone call?”

Tony went still. “Uh.” A pause. “I’m… not really sure where to start.”

“How ‘bout with the reason you dropped off my radar so suddenly?”

“Ty didn’t like it when I talked to other guys.”

Rhodey blinked. “Ty- Tiberius Stone?”

Tony gulped at his coffee; answer enough for Rhodey. 

He waited for Tony to answer anyway; Tony needed to talk.

“Yes.” Tony said at length.

“Why did he care if you talked to other guys?” Again, Rhodey knew the answer to his question, but he didn’t want to believe it, and he wouldn’t unless Tony came out and said it.

“We were dating.”

“And he made you cut ties with me?” 

“With everyone,” Tony muttered.

Rhodey sensed a desire for a topic change in the way only best friends can manage. “Who is this Pepper person?”

Tony brightened instantly. “She’s my PA!”

“And she dumped all the alcohol down the drain?”

“It was awesome.”

“Good for you.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been trying to get you sober for years, and she’s finally managed it.”

Tony fidgeted.

“Oh, not Pepper then. Who?”

“...Phil. He and Pepper and Darcy are conspiring.”

“Darcy? Wait, no, back up. Who is Phil?”

“Phil Coulson.”

“What about him?”

“I’m dating him.”

Rhodey took a deep, deep breath. Getting information from Tony was like piecing together a thousand piece jigsaw puzzle without any idea of the final picture, and missing the corner pieces. “But wait, what happened to Tiberius?”

“Darcy got him thrown in jail for me years ago. And then Phil’s assassin friends killed him and mailed me the bullet for Christmas.”

Rhodey stared at his friend, shocked. “What?” he finally asked.

Tony sighed.

“Okay, wait. Back to the beginning. You were dating Tiberius. He made you cut ties with everyone. I’m assuming this was fall ‘01?”

“How do you _know_ that?”

“You were ignoring me and I was worried, you idiot. Okay. What happened with Tiberius?” Rhodey’s hackles rose when Tony looked away and rubbed his neck, breath picking up.

“Who?” Tony asked.

Rhodey’s worry levels ratcheted up another notch, and his suspicions jumped into the realm of probable cause.

“I tried to break up with him… six times? Seven? A lot. Darcy got him arrested for me, it was amazing.”

“Jarvis, please show me medical records from ‘01 through…”

“‘02 through ‘04,” Tony muttered. “‘01 was mostly just the, you know, tie-cutting. Do you like pie? I think I have pie, I’m just going to go grab that.” That was as good as permission from the billionaire.

“Of course, Colonel,” Jarvis said. Tony stood and slipped into the kitchen as a file popped up. A very, very large file. In three years, Jarvis produced just over one hundred medical reports.

“Did you exclude unrelated incidents?”

An affronted silence answered his question.

“Pull up the five worst and five least, please.” 

In only ten of the two hundred reports, Rhodey saw everything from lacerations to broken bones, internal bleeding, burns, twisted ankles and wrists, torn muscles - and signs of….

“Close file, please, Jarvis,” Rhodey said. He set his mug down and buried his head in his hands. He sat in silence for a long time.

“Sorry,” Tony mumbled.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Rhodey snapped. “ _I’m_ the one who’s sorry. God, Tony. Fuck. It wasn’t your fault the guy was a jackass.”

“But… I should’ve…”

Rhodey stood and grabbed Tony’s shoulders. “Look at me, Tones. It. Is. Not. Your. Fault.”

Tony blinked and met his eyes. “I…”

“Not your fault.”

“B-”

“Nope.”

“Would you just-”

“Not until you stop trying to put yourself down for something that is not your fault.”

Tony stared, and then leaned forward, burying his face in the larger man’s shoulder. Rhodey could feel wetness against his shirt. “God I missed you, bro,” Tony mumbled.

Rhodey grinned. “Agreed, bro.”

They were quiet for a while. “I should probably also tell you,” Tony said, “...I tried to kill myself just before Christmas. And I maybe let people beat me up at street fights for a long time before that?”

“What?!”

Tony took a deep, deep breath. 

“Well-see-the-first-time-was-an-accident-and-then-I-realized-I-deserved-it-and-I-couldn’t-stop-so-I-kept-going-to-them-and-it-made-me-feel-which-was-awesome-’cause-mostly-I-was-kind-of-numb-and-drunk-all-the-time-then-Phil-was-recruiting-for-his-super-secret-spy-agency-”

Rhodey gaped as Tony paused and took another huge breath.

“-and-then-he-met-me-in-Portland-where-Darcy-works-at-her-family-diner-and-bought-me-a-burger-and-then-we-met-up-again-and-I-wasn’t-entirely-sure-what-was-going-on-and-stopped-drinking-as-much-and-sorta-kinda-maybe-had-an-almost-breakdown…”

Rhodey finally managed to interrupt. “We will be talking about this in greater depth than the rip-it-off-like-a-bandaid version.”

Tony groaned a bit.

“First, where’s Stone now? I need to kill him.”

“I _told_ you, Phil’s assassin friends killed him and mailed me the bullet for Christmas.”

“I wasn’t sure if I’d hallucinated that bit or not.”

Tony pulled back from the hug and grinned a little at him. “Nope. Tied it up with a bow and everything. Wanna see?”

“Nah, I believe you.” Rhodey retrieved his coffee and took a massive gulp. “If you need to talk, I’ll listen. And if this Phil person does anything, I do currently have a licence to kill.”

Tony laughed, and asked if he would like to learn what it felt like to be schooled (in far too many words), holding up a game of MarioKart.

Six hours of hang time later, Rhodey slid to a seat on his guest bed and buried his face in his palms. “Fuck,” he breathed. “Jarvis?”

“Yes, colonel Rhodes?”

“Set up new protocol; priority alpha, codename back-up.”

“Set-up initiated. Protocol Back-up. Details?”

“If Tony is in trouble, call. Even if it's from himself. Auto-override. Dial: Rhodes, James, or Potts, Pepper, or Coulson, Phil, at your discretion, Jarvis.”

“Protocol saved. Thank you, Colonel.”

“No, thank you.”

“...I am afraid I do not understand what it is you are thanking me for. I have been grossly negligent of late.”

“No. No, Jarvis, this isn’t your fault either. There's not a doubt in my mind that you’re the reason he’s still alive at all.”

Silence for a moment, and then, “Thank you...sir.”

Rhodey grinned at his general surroundings. “What do you think of all these new people around, J?”

“I am uncertain. It is unnerving to suddenly have so many more people capable of entering my systems.”

“I bet.” Rhodey fell back on the bed. “You need to talk, I’m here for you too, J.”

A flustered silence was answer enough, and Rhodey grinned. He had been trying to leave the AI speechless for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! :D Happy Holidays! :) Congrats on surviving another year! :D Many, many thanks to [Hyouden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyouden/pseuds/Hyouden) for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Sorry it took me a loooong time to update. Finals, holidays, general craziness, a bout with depression.... It's been a while, but I'm back, at least for a few days! 
> 
> Favorite gift? A toss-up. My bestie got me a Rocket Raccoon jacket and hobbit feet slippers, and my dad got me skullcandy crushers. Can't decide which I love more.


	16. Climbed the Hill

**January 11, 2007**

Phil stretched as he climbed off the plane in California. He opened his phone, flipping it on for the first time in almost a week. A few text messages from Miss Potts popped up, informing him that Tony had a minor freak out and Colonel Rhodes was in town, which appeared to have greatly improved his mood.

Debrief. Sleep. Tony. In that order.

He shot off a quick text to both Tony and Miss Potts - Tony to let him know he was alive and should be dropping by the next day, Miss Potts to get Tony’s schedule cleared as much as possible.

Setting his phone on vibrate, he climbed into the waiting car and collapsed against the soft seats.

* * *

**January 12, 2007**

“You must be Phil.”

Phil blinked at the black man leaning against the frame of Tony’s front door. “Colonel Rhodes,” he replied, “I was unaware you were on leave.”

“James is fine, I’m off-duty. Tony asked me to come back. I’ve been trying to get him to let me in for the last few years; no way was I missing the only chance he’s given me. I owe you a lot for that.”

“You should be thanking Darcy, Colonel.”

“We haven’t gotten there yet. I’m still not sure who she is. And please call me James or Rhodey.” Colonel Rhodes, though otherwise open and friendly, had sharp eyes. This was a man Phil could really get along with.

Phil entered the building once the initial pleasantries were out of the way.

“Welcome back, Agent Coulson,” Jarvis greeted, “how was your week?”

“Not terrible, but definitely exhausting.” Phil turned down the hall to the guest room he had stayed in over the holidays, dropping off his duffel. “Where’s Tony at?”

“Master Stark is in the workshop,” Jarvis replied, “He will be at a good stopping point in about twenty minutes.”

“Have you had lunch yet?” Phil asked Rhodey, turning to lead the way to the kitchen.

“No, we haven’t.” Rhodey grinned a little sheepishly. “I was working on a project of my own, lost track of time.”

“You work with Tony?”

“Oh, I’m not nearly on the level of what he’s working with now, but I’ve worked on smaller projects sometimes. I majored in engineering when Tony did.”

Phil nodded thoughtfully, dropping his jacket over the back of a bar stool when they entered the kitchen. “Did you also know Stone?”

“Not well,” Rhodey said, giving the wall a glare that could melt obsidian. “He started by isolating Tony. There wasn’t much I could do about it while I was deployed.”

Phil nodded, understanding.

Rhodey’s lips curved into a smirk. “Hear you had the problem dealt with.”

“Off the record, of course.”

“Of course. Jarvis, tell Tony lunch is ready, if you please.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Jarvis’ affirmative.

“Gotta allow fifteen minutes for inevitable distractions. J, tell him to shower, too.”

“Of course,” Jarvis replied, sounding miffed. 

“Sorry, oh great one,” Rhodey said sarcastically.

Yeah, Phil could really get along with a guy like Rhodey. “I’m going to clean up a bit myself. Travelling takes it out of you.”

Rhodey waved a hand in acknowledgement. “Especially with… what, CIA? Nah, not quite the level of bureaucratic arrogance for that. Don’t tell me… SHIELD. Definitely SHIELD.”

Phil stared at him for a long moment. “I can neither confirm nor deny,” he finally replied, and vanished down the hallway to the sound of the Colonel’s chortling.

* * *

Tony yawned and stretched, throwing on a pair of sweats and a band t-shirt when he got out of the shower. Slumping down the hall, he entered the kitchen with another wide yawn to the sight of Rhodey draining macaroni into the sink. “Aw, honey-bear, you shouldn’t have,” he crooned.

“Only for you, fruit loop.”

Tony draped himself all over his friend, snorting. “Not a fruit loop,” he grumbled.

“Well, you certainly aren’t a cheerio.” 

Tony huffed at a hand patting his head as he started rooting through Rhodey’s (many, many, many) pockets. The soldier usually had something exciting for Tony to eat or fiddle with tucked away somewhere. It was their thing, since Tony was a tiny little grad student that didn’t eat enough and caught the eye of the overprotective mother hen at a party.

“Back pocket, left side,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes. “I was going to mail it to you, but I would have beaten it here.”

“Aw, you shouldn’t have.”

“I know. Mom sent a few things too, they’re in my room.”

Finding the envelope, Tony didn’t bother to step back as he stared at it, wondering what it could possibly be.

“Am I interrupting something?” an amused, familiar voice said.

Tony squeaked and put a solid table between himself and the rest of the room in about two seconds flat, gaining two looks of surprise. “ _Phil_!?”

“Surprise? I did send a text.” One eyebrow quirked as Phil tucked his hands into the pockets of _holy skinny_ jeans, those were not good for Tony’s sanity.

Tony was trembling now, his two friends looking torn between stepping closer and backing off.

“Colonel, the pasta sauce,” Jarvis said.

“Shit!” Rhodey turned, taking the cue and collecting the hot pan and pouring the cheesy sauce over the macaroni in its own pan, taking both out of the kitchen and into the living room.

“Tony?” Phil asked.

“Sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry -”

“Tony -”

“Nothing was happening, I swear, Rhodey’s just, uh, basically my brother -”

“Tony, what are you -”

“I didn’t mean to - just don’t make me send him away again!”

A moment of silence as Phil blinked at him. “What?” he asked slowly.

Tony stared back at him as comprehension started to flood the agent’s eyes. Phil… wasn’t upset?

“Why would I send him away? He was here first.”

Tony slid down the wall he hadn’t realized he’d backed into. “I know - I know, sorry, sorry -”

Warm fingers tilted his chin up. “I will never be angry with you for wanting physical contact with people you are close to, Tony. Well, unless you intend to cheat on me. And I reserve the right to be jealous of those… sycophants at the galas you attend.”

Tony choked on a laugh. “I know… it’s just…”

“It’s okay if you’re not okay sometimes, Tony,” Phil said, “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Tony surprised them both when he hugged the agent. Phil took it in stride, though, hugging him back. “He made me make everyone leave,” Tony mumbled into Phil’s shoulder. The agent didn’t mention the slight wetness he felt against his neck.

“I know.” 

Tony’s fists loosened after he breathed a bit, reminding him of the envelope clenched tight in the right one. “Oh! Want to see what Rhodey got me for Christmas?”

“Sure.” 

Fingers slowly settling, Tony easily tore the envelope open. Inside sat a certificate of promotion. Tony gaped at it. “No way,” he breathed.

“Way,” Rhodey said from the doorframe. His eyes were tight, but his smile was genuine. “That’s why I’ve been deployed so much; climbing the ranks.”

Tony handed the letter to Phil, who read it, eyes widening as he realized exactly what it was. “Congratulations, James,” he said, “Primary correspondent to a major weapons company like Stark Industries is a prestigious position.”

Rhodey grinned when Tony launched himself at the other engineer for a hug.

* * *

**January 13, 2007**

“Master Stark, Miss Lewis is on the line.”

“Patch her through!”

“Hello?”

“Hey, Darce, what’s up?”

“I may have made a somewhat rash decision.”

“Okay, you’re gonna have to clarify.”

“I had a three day weekend so I’m currently standing on the tarmac of the airport closest to your place.”

Silence. “Uh.”

“I was drunk and pissed at my mother.”

“Ah. Hey, Rhodey…” Tony turned to his friend and plastered lethal puppy-dog eyes onto his face. Phil was here, and he was in a good workshop zone, and he didn’t want to go anywhere, dammit.

“Yes, I’ll go pick your crazy friend up from the airport.” Rhodey rolled his eyes.

“Tall dark and handsome will be there shortly Darcy!”

“I’m the chick with the Hello-Kitty earrings, Invader Zim t-shirt, and hangover face, by gate 3C.”

“I’m the tall black guy in a black tank top and oily jeans. I’ll also be driving Tony’s nicest car.”

“Perf! See ya soon!”

Tony grinned at the look on Rhodey’s face when the call clicked off. His best friend looked nothing less than terrified. “Tony,” the airman said, “Did we just get off the phone with, well, you plus boobs?”

“You’ll see.”

“Mother, I’m sorry. You told me I’d regret my love of strays one day, and that day may be this day,” Rhodey turned his eyes heavenward, “You know everything, so just, y’know, help.” His phone rang.

Tony stared at the caller ID with stunned disbelief, before reaching out to answer before Rhodey could stop him. “Hi, momma Rhodes!”

* * *

Rhodey didn’t _actually_ take Tony’s nicest car, but his crappiest one. Which, he now realized, might not have been his best decision. A maniacal Darcy sat next to him chatting, something about ponies and their counterparts and cutie marks, whatever that meant. He’d called for a tow, since the old beater had broken down.

“Oh, hey, that’s Pepper!” Darcy jumped up and down and waved as a sleek black mustang pulled up next to them.

“Need a ride?” A red-headed woman asked through the open window. 

“You guessed it boss-lady! Who’s the dude?”

“Happy, meet Darcy Lewis - and, I presume, Colonel Rhodes.”

Happy turned to Pepper, apparently deciding to ignore the crazy chick. That was a good sign for his ability to succeed as Tony’s driver. “Does this have to do with the job you aren’t allowed to tell me about?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Pepper said, eyes twinkling, before turning back to the two impromptu hitchhikers, “Are you headed for the Malibu house?”

Darcy nodded as they slid into the back seat. “I made a rash decision and bought a plane ticket for the three day weekend. Tall dark and handsome here came to pick me up, and then the car broke down. Plus, Phil’s back, I have to come say hi.”

Pepper grinned at them. “I am never going to let him live down the fact that one of his precious cars had a breakdown.”

Rhodey felt a wide smirk cross his own lips. He could really learn to get along with these people. “Your driver?”

“Is actually testing to become an official driver, and, as his trustworthiness passes with flying colors, I think he’s hired.”

“Pep…” the driver said uncertainly, “Who exactly needs a driver and sometimes bodyguard?”

“Just me and my boss. You may have heard of him.”

Darcy outright laughed, and Happy looked aptly terrified. Rhodey grinned. Tony had impeccable taste in friends, at least, if not in boyfriends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You had all better thank [Hyouden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyouden/pseuds/Hyouden) for this. I couldn't figure out how to do it and her glorious brain was like, BOOM. 
> 
> To any of you lovely people still following this ridiculous monstrous fic, there remains one, MAYBE two chapters, and then this particular fic will be over. I may or may not continue with more fics for the series, probably all written somewhat out of order. 
> 
> Y'all are awesome for sticking with this! For other important moments (first kiss, more angsty Tony, the character relationship meme, etc), if you want to see them request them in the comments of [Deviant Domesticity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2507813). I reserve the right to withhold the first kiss thing if I decide to do another fic... like a wedding one. It's in the cards.


	17. Were we Ever Somewhere Else

**July 4, 2007**

Phil Coulson was just one more suit in the crowd; it was his cover. Tonight, there was a gala with a very important main attraction, and it was as good a place as any to entertain himself between assignments; and entertaining was the goal tonight.

However, he came as a participant, not a spectator: a side character to the main event. His enemies had grandiose stage names, covers as much as his own. Justin Hammer; Angelina Jolie; Tom Cruise; Norman Osborn.

One man arrived late, and the whispers flew around the crowd, excited, anxious to get a piece of him for themselves. Coulson knew him intimately; this man’s mask was vicious and cold, and every event he attended ended in his victory. As fireworks exploded, cracking and bursting in the dark sky above them, they spelled out a name.

_Tony Stark._

He had always had more potential than the others. Once the genius arrived, it wasn’t long before the silver-tongued fight started. Bets flew as fast as the red-white-and-blue holiday Martinis, and the gambling jumped up a notch. Jagged insults were tossed as carelessly as empty McDonald’s wrappers, elbows were bumped, favors exchanged like starving men trade bread crumbs; there was only one rule here.

Survive.

And Tony was an expert at surviving.

* * *

Tony Stark sauntered down the red carpet, picture-perfect smirk plastered in place and flashing peace signs for the never-ending cameras - or maybe to the fireworks above him. He signed a little girl’s action figure here, a little boy’s t-shirt there. He loved little kids; maybe he’d even get one himself one day, if it was with the right person.

Questions flung from the sidelines, from reporters and fans and his fellow stars. Always with the questions. Most of the ones he was presented with tonight were about the supposed mystery keeper that had ended his playboy ways. Tony deflected or joked, generally being a nuisance. Didn’t they see he was maturing as a person? That comment got a good laugh and the topic was dropped.

The media thought they knew all his dirty little secrets.

They were wrong.

Tony Stark hid a grimace behind a jovial laugh as a hand slid up his arm, sending traitorous shivers through his spine and thoughts of suits through his equally traitorous mind. He tossed out a teasing comment about left feet, receiving a mocking response.

 _Always so cruel_.

Whatever, as if he cared; none of them mattered. He brushed the thought aside, refocusing on the premiere, or appearing to be focused there. He was a genius though, and he could easily think of multiple things at once, as long as he didn’t mind being an asshole, and he didn’t. That was the best way to hide. If he hid well enough, they would never know there was somewhere they could hit that would hurt, let alone where that spot was.

He thought of his plans for tonight as his crisp-suited bodyguard opened the door to his limo, sliding in after him. They involved a couch, popcorn, and probably a flour fight when he made the birthday cake. Tony was hoping they could pop in a good comedy – _The Princess Bride_ , maybe, or _Get Smart_. Of course, there was always the chance they would end up with a movie marathon on their hands – _Star Wars_ , _Lord of the Rings_ , and _Harry Potter_ were all good bets. Today was a good day; one of the best he’d ever known, even in his recent bout of optimism. He was having friends home for a party, after all.

So that’s where he’d go.

“Take us home, Happy.”

“Of course, sir.”

His bodyguard’s glasses came off, revealing the man underneath. “Excited?” Phil asked.

Tony beamed at him. “You have no idea,” he replied, and happily accepted a kiss.

What was he talking about? There would be bad days, and there would be good days, but he didn’t need to go anywhere.

He was already home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, many, many thanks and kudos to my beta reader [Hyouden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyouden/pseuds/Hyouden).
> 
> To any of you lovely people still following this ridiculous monstrous fic, THIS IS IT. I may or may not continue with more fics for the series, probably all written somewhat out of order, and definitely nowhere near this long, since I’ll be working more with canon.
> 
> Potential fics (if you are interested):  
> -From Clint/Natasha’s pov on Coulson and his Cellist  
> -moving in/engagement/wedding fic  
> -Events of Iron Man 1  
> -Events of Iron Man 2  
> -Rewrites/expansions of “His Cellist” and “Love Don’t Die”
> 
> Y'all are awesome for sticking with this! For other important moments (first kiss, the character relationship meme, etc), if you want to see them request them in the comments of [Deviant Domesticity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2507813).
> 
> -Era Penn


	18. THE SONG LYRICS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These are the song lyrics from the songs that made up our chapter titles.

**Tony's Song:[Never Saw Blue Like That](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sptmDFuzpTA)**

Today I took a walk up the street  
And picked a flower and climbed the hill  
Above the lake 

And secret thoughts were said aloud  
We watched the faces in the clouds  
Until the clouds had blown away 

And were we ever somewhere else  
You know, it's hard to say 

And I never saw blue like that before  
Across the sky  
Around the world  
You've given me all you have and more  
And no one else has ever shown me how  
To see the world the way I see it now  
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that 

I can't believe a month ago  
I was alone, I didn't know you  
I hadn't seen or heard your name  
And even now, I'm so amazed  
It's like a dream, It's like a rainbow, it's like the rain 

And some things are the way they are  
And words just can't explain 

Cause I never saw blue like that before  
Across the sky  
Around the world  
You've given me all you have and more  
And no one else has ever shown me how  
To see the world the way I see it now  
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that before 

And it feels like now,  
And it feels always,  
And it feels like coming home 

I never saw blue like that before  
Across the sky  
Around the world  
You've given me all you have and more  
And no one else has ever shown me how  
To see the world the way I see it now  
Oh, I, I never saw blue like that before 

Oh, I, I never saw blue like that

**Phil's Song:[Fix You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k4V3Mo61fJM)**

When you try your best, but you don't succeed  
When you get what you want, but not what you need  
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep  
Stuck in reverse

And the tears come streaming down your face  
When you lose something you can't replace  
When you love someone, but it goes to waste  
Could it be worse?

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you

And high up above or down below  
When you're too in love to let it go  
But if you never try you'll never know  
Just what you're worth

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you

Tears stream down your face  
When you lose something you cannot replace  
Tears stream down your face  
And I...

Tears stream down your face  
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes  
Tears stream down your face  
And I...

Lights will guide you home  
And ignite your bones  
And I will try to fix you


End file.
